when we were young
by Kuruk
Summary: They aren't chasing anything anymore - except each other. They have all the time in the world. — Morty/Falkner, Whitney & Eusine.


_Notes: So this piece took me forever, mostly because I was inspired by a piece so beautiful and perfect that I didn't feel like I could finish it until it was even a fraction as good. This was written in response to a request: "_I've really been into Morty/Falkner lately (Honorshipping) but it's incomplete without the inclusion of pushy&cheery Whitney! Since I know how great you are at writing trios, I'd love to see some Morty/Falkner/Whitney! :)" _Well, it turned out to include Eusine, as well, in a rather AU fashion (for specifics on this, please read the A/N at the bottom of the screen), but I hope you enjoy reading it!_

_Characters / Pairings: Morty/Eusine (honorshipping), Whitney + Eusine. Clair, Falkner's father, the legendary dogs, Ho-Oh._

_Universe: Game - HG/SS._

_Warnings: sexual situations, some language, AU._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon, nor do I stand to profit from this in any form. All mistakes are my own._

* * *

><p><em><strong>when we were young<strong>_

They still see each other, of course.

Being a gym leader, Morty has to attend a lot of the same events that Falkner does. Region security, tax collection and international affairs if it's official business; ending pokémon cruelty and promoting literacy in Orre and other events of that ilk (the ones that are really more about showing off than any of that humanitarian bullshit) if it's not.

In theory, it should get easier each time they see each other.

But it doesn't.

Whenever they're in the same room, they avoid each other, or Falkner's assistants go out of their way to keep him away from Morty. It's hard to miss the glances Falkner throws him when no one is looking hard enough to call it inappropriate. They give him a warm sensation along the back of his neck, the feeling still familiar even after all this time. If he lets himself, he still longs for those looks.

He realizes, however, that they aren't seventeen anymore. They're adults now. They have real responsibilities; the carefully maintained the façade that they were perfectly normal kids training pokémon who dared to dream beyond what anyone else could even comprehend is gone forever.

When Morty is feeling particularly bitter, he entertains the notion that he hates them—Falkner's father and the sages and everything else that came between them and shattered their illusion.

But Morty has never been able to hate anyone, not even the townspeople that ostracized his father for being an outsider, the superstitious neighbors that shunned him for being a child of two worlds who could see the future and had an affinity for ghosts.

Rumor has it that Morty was supposed to have died at birth along with his mother, anyway, so he figures that his half-death is why he can't feel too strongly, can't grasp certain emotions to his chest and say _I hate you I hate you so much I hope you die._

So no, Morty is incapable of hating them.

Whenever he talks to one of the kimono girls he has in his confidence, they say that he should let go and move on, that holding onto the ghost of a relationship is as unhealthy as holding onto the ghosts of the dead.

But it's not the simple, he tries to explain. It's not that simple when you almost had it all, when you used to be able to hold the person you love tight and now every day without them is simply a reminder of what is missing, of what you don't have. It isn't enough.

They always get offended after that, frowns the slightest bit indignant.

_Why do you need a love so common when you're the one who brought Ho-Oh back to Ecruteak? Isn't _that_ enough?_

So he just smiles at them apologetically and takes his leave, knowing that the answer he has for them wouldn't be the one they want to hear.

— . . . —

Morty's thought long and hard about it, and he's come to the conclusion that it wouldn't have worked out.

Falkner wasn't the right trainer for Entei, even if he was the son of one of the most accomplished pokémon trainers of all time.

And Morty has the tendency to be distant and inattentive, and Falkner may never admit it, but he is in constant need of reassurance.

So no, even without the whole 'His Excellency, the Honorable Lord Falkner,' sole heir to one of the most ancient and influential noble families of Johto part, it would never have worked.

(Morty should be able to take comfort in this, but finds that he can't.)

— . . . —

"You look good," Falkner says softly. He offers Morty a small, tired grin. "You even neglected to put on your scarf, I see."

Morty is wearing an expensive suit that is hardly comfortable. It makes him look dignified and respectable though, so he slicks his hair back and removes his favorite bandana and puts the uncomfortable thing on for events like this.

"Whitney picked it out for me, actually. I'll tell her you approve of her taste."

Falkner's grin widens into a smile, a flash of teeth visible behind tight lips. "Yeah, you do that. Whit's always had great taste…" and Falkner's voice is lower by an octave now, eyes lingering on him longer than is proper. A shiver runs up and down Morty's spine. It feels like Gengar just laid an ectoplasmic claw on his skin.

But then, "Your lordship? If you're not busy, there's someone that you really must meet."

Falkner stiffens and tears his eyes off Morty to look at the interloper, a woman in a ridiculously elaborate and expensive-looking silk kimono. Before walking away, he turns his gaze back to Morty, almost as if he was asking for his permission.

And what is he supposed to say? "You heard her. It's someone you _must_ meet."

"Yes, I suppose it is. It's been a pleasure to see you as always, Gym Leader Morty."

He doesn't know why, but before Falkner can walk away, he says, "You look good too, Falkner."

And even though he's omitted his title and committed some kind a faux pas, Falkner's smile is –

— . . . —

_ "You'll see, Falkner," Morty says, a little lightheaded from the smell of the incense in the dance hall, "We'll do it and it'll be incredible, like we're bringing the light back into a world of shadows."_

_ "It will," Falkner replies, sounding as if he were dazed, hanging onto Morty for support, his lips soft and warm against his jaw. "Keep going…"_

_ "We'll be together, Falkner. You and me and Eusine and Whitney, but really just—,"_

_ "You and me," Falkner finishes for him, long fingers tangled in the faded yellow of Morty's hair. "Yes, that sounds… it sounds good to me."_

_ And maybe Morty is a little poetic, a little romantic, because when Falkner smiles it's like the shadows that have cloyed around him since birth have been dispelled by brilliant sunbeams, breaking through the clouds at last._

— . . . —

It does, however, feel more natural. They were friends (best friends) before anything else. It's easy to fall back into the old routine.

Except Falkner isn't raving about bird pokémon or gyms. And maybe Morty's quieter than he used to be, too, now that his dreams have become reality.

It is a cool night, and the Goldenrod City skyline is the backdrop. Inside, the stifling atmosphere of the party still reigns, so they had been discrete enough to come out onto the penthouse balcony. The wind whips past them and blows Falkner's azure hair around so that he looks free, eyes closed and arms outstretched slightly. When it settles down, he lets his arms fall limply to his sides. His face loses the sense of calm it had but a few seconds before. He looks like a kicked growlithe now, instead.

"You look as if you just killed my pet meowth, or something," Morty says, exasperation hidden beneath the thin veneer of a chuckle. Falkner startles at his words and looks at him with wide eyes. "It was a very rational decision, one that we reached together. I'm not angry at you."

Falkner flinches at his words, almost as if they were meant to wound rather than absolve. He bites his lip before replying. "Well, I suppose that's good to hear…" he hesitates, seems to consider whether or not he should say what's on his mind. "I… I'm sorry," he finally says, looking down at his hands. "I never told you how sorry I was."

Morty shrugs. "It's alright, really. You weren't right for the mission, and I wasn't right for you," the expression on Falkner's face suggests that the two are in no way equivalent, like he somehow owes Morty, or something. Thinking quickly, Morty puts on a wry smile. "Besides, your father was right. I wouldn't have made a good Lady Falkner."

When Falkner laughs, the sound whole and genuine and free, Morty realizes how much he missed hearing it, how much he missed making him do that (he doesn't laugh much, otherwise).

— . . . —

"Honestly, I still don't understand why the two of you had to break it off in the first place!" Whitney exclaims fiercely the next day over lunch, looking at him pointedly from across the café table.

"Yes you do, Whitney," Morty says tiredly, pouring the boiling water over his tea leaves. He watches them swirl and color the water light amber, occluding the transparency.

She rolls her eyes. "Well, those are the reasons why everyone _else_ told you to break it off. The whole 'Falkner-is-a-darn-lord' thing. But c'mon, you gotta realize that it's all hooey! When you two were together it was like… well, you guys were like the model couple for me."

He says nothing, continues staring at his tea a little blankly.

Whitney takes a loud slurp of her iced coffee before plowing on. "Have you seen the gossip magazines? Half of them are claiming that the two of you are having some kind of romantic love affair behind closed doors where Falk's father can't catch you."

How could he miss them? They got pictures of them together at some of the parties, talking and shaking hands, and the headlines proclaim, _look_, _they're friends again!_ The thing is, it wasn't like they ever stopped. Friendships can survive long periods of silence and overbearing fathers, even becoming the masters of deities. The sordid affair bit, well, obviously that's untrue, but Morty entertains the thought that they're far too close to the truth for their own good.

"You know it's just speculation," Morty says gently before taking a sip of his tea. "Nothing is actually happening, Whitney."

She frowns. "I know."

He nods before setting his cup down. "Just thought I'd make sure you did."

— . . . —

_In all fairness, Morty should have seen this coming, being clairvoyant, and all._

_His perceptive abilities, both supernatural and otherwise, are not yet attuned to such mundane matters as the visiting nobleman (back then, they were only attuned to one thing—Ho-Oh, Ho-Oh, always Ho-Oh)._

"_My father doesn't approve," Falkner says, looking distressed."He thinks that I don't need to go to Trainer School, even if it is the most prestigious institution of its kind in Johto. He thinks it's absurd, really… that I should be learning from him and the other gym trainers rather than the teachers here. But I… I just wanted to feel _normal_, for once…" he cannot meet Morty's eyes, hands tightening into fists, starting to ramble. "But… I can't lie to you and Eusine, you especially… you're my best friends, and lying to you, I just _can't _–,"_

_Morty blinks dumbly. "Okay."_

"_Okay?" Falkner repeats incredulously, "I tell you all that and all you have to say is 'okay?'"_

_He shrugs. "I don't see how this changes anything, Falkner. You're still the same person you've always been, aren't you?"_

_Falkner stares at him as if he were the one to have confessed to be royalty, eyes wide with shock. Then, all at once, he starts to laugh, mirth bordering on the manic, leaning back into the couch._

"_Okay," Falkner says again, eyes glistening with something indefinable. "Okay."_

_He grabs Morty's hand in his own, too overwhelmed to be shy, and holds it tight._

— . . . —

He's twenty-three now, and when he does the math, he finds that he and Falkner have been apart longer than they ever were together. They'd become friends a month-and-a-half into the first semester, had become best friends faster than Morty had really thought possible. But that something more, the feeling of being redeemed, that only lasted for three months when Morty was seventeen and Falkner was fifteen and they were so close to their goal that they could practically taste it.

Morty's been a trainer of legendary pokémon for several years now, as have Eusine and Whitney. The three of them are living the dream that Morty had been too scared to voice out loud for years before there was the four of them laughing and playing video games and getting drunk together in that dorm room—a makeshift family where there had been none for him prior.

Falkner, though...

Falkner stayed behind and graduated, just like he was supposed to.

The three of them had gone to the graduation ceremony. The people that had been their peers just a few months earlier has whispered about them as if they were legends themselves. Morty remembers wondering if that was how Falkner felt every day.

It had been a little over a year since they parted ways, but after the ceremony Falkner had pulled him aside and pressed his lips against Morty's. It had tasted of the champagne Falkner's father had just (grudgingly) toasted him with and the bitter tang of promises that hadn't panned out.

It was the last time Falkner kissed him.

It was supposed to have meant closure—the end to an adolescent romance that was too foolish and fantastical to ever be real.

And yet they're still caught in each other's gravity, powerless to escape.

Morty is starting to believe that maybe the kimono girls are right. There's no way this can be healthy, no way in hell, because Morty has always been a patient person. He had carried the contempt of an entire town on his narrow shoulders since he was born, had spent years planning the mission before ever trying to carry it out. But this—being close enough to Falkner to touch but not being able—is torture without an end in sight.

But Morty keeps squeezing himself into the suits Whitney picks out for him and confining Gengar to his poké ball so that he can't offend anyone on his behalf. He keeps replying yes on the RSVPs to the invitations his second-in-command at the gym picks out for him. He always flies there, if only so that when he arrives the other party guests will remember that he's worthy to be among them. Because he isn't just some punk kid that the little lord calls his friend anymore, or even the gym leader with crazy dreams and frightening powers.

The brilliance of his landings, the sacred fire and rainbow plumage and majestic cries out of a legend, are almost as impressive as when he holds out a simple red-and-white capsule and calls his mount back, letting everyone know that _he_ is the chosen one.

Perhaps it is because of this that he is beyond reproach. When he leaves the kimono girls don't say a thing and the sages set their jaws in disapproval they are no longer allowed to voice. Only Whitney voices anything at all, loud and cheery and approving. So Morty carries on with stuffy suits and grand entrances and warm sensations on the back of his neck until he gets this:

Falkner's long, elegant fingers, hesitant and shuddering, resting over the pulse point in Morty's wrist, soft voice and laughter ringing in his ears as clear as bells.

It isn't nearly enough.

Every time their fingers brush, feather-light and almost reluctant, Morty looks at Falkner's usually austere face, sees the faltering resolve, and is reminded that eventually, something has to give.

He just isn't sure if he should look forward to it or regard its inevitability with dread.

— . . . —

Morty is at Whitney's loft when he hears the news.

All he hears is _Unova_ and _diplomatic relations _and _League presence _before Whitney's shrieking makes everything else fall away.

"Did ya hear that?" Whitney exclaims, too high-pitched to be the demand. "Unova, _Unova_," her country twang becomes audible, excitement overwhelming her fake city-girl accent, "part of the Pokémon League!"

He laughs as Whitney leaps onto the couch and proceeds to jump up and down excitedly.

This is good news, of course. Besides Orre, Unova was the only other region that had not accepted a League presence. The League Council had worried as it always had, and for a time there were whispers that the relations with Unova may deteriorate, that there may even be the possibility of hostilities. Many of the gym leader meetings that dealt with regional security had called for increased cooperation with the Hoenn and Sinnoh Leagues, and Morty's mind had been numbed by the deluge of new intelligence on species of pokémon native to Unova and profiles of their most powerful trainers.

Needless to say, it is a relief that they have finally decided to join the League, if only so that the hysteria would end.

Whitney, however, is only thinking about Unovan fashion and trends and the now very real possibility of catching a flight to the so-called "fashion capital of the world." But Morty can't bring himself to bother her about it, because he is laughing so hard with sheer relief that, before he knows it, she has dragged him up onto the couch with her.

— . . . —

The inclusion of Unova into the League, of course, warrants a celebration. So before the news of the annexation is a month old, Morty finds himself standing with Whitney and a multitude of League officials from all four regions—gym leaders, councilmen and women, members of the Elite Four and their Champions alike—in the largest ballroom Morty has ever laid eyes on. Everything in Unova is large, he thinks dazedly, eyes only accustomed to the quaint, historic architecture of Ecruteak.

Whitney, while preoccupied with the apparently overwhelming fact that she has made it to Unova (and completely oblivious to the stares of the other guests, the whispers of awe about the girl that managed to tame a legendary beast), is still quick to point out when Falkner enters the room. When Morty notes this as unenthusiastically as he possibly can, she grabs his hand and leads him across the ballroom and right up to the younger man, who looks startled (but pleased, Morty notes) at the sight of them.

"Hi, Falkner!" Whitney greets him, ignoring decorum and embracing him tightly. "I haven't seen you in like, _forever_! Is that any way to treat one of your best friends?"

Falkner's assembled assistants and staff have looks of abject horror on their faces, but Whitney simply ignores them. She has always been crass, Morty thinks, never bothering to conform to any social airs that she finds 'ridiculous' (this is probably why she is never invited to any of the events where Falkner's family is involved).

"No," Falkner says from his position on Whitney's shoulder, arms wrapped securely around her waist; his eyes are on Morty, though, staring unabashedly. "I suppose it isn't."

— . . . —

"_It's very difficult to achieve our goals when you aren't here with us, Falkner," Morty mumbles into the receiver. He's standing in the Ilex Forest, grass and foliage up to his knees, alone. Johto is vast enough for three people (four if he counts Whitney, but she isn't part of the plan, isn't old enough to fight a legendary beast and tame it), let alone two. He can only do so much, and Eusine is getting impatient, talking about the importance of having full dedication to the plan and everyone doing their part loud enough for Falkner to hear._

I need you,_ Morty wants to say. _I don't want to leave you behind but things are moving so _quickly_.

"_I know, Morty," Falkner replies, voice resigned. "But I have responsibilities… my father wants me to start making appearances at events on his behalf and I just… I just can't…"_

_Falkner sounds thousands of miles away over the phone despite that it would only take a few hours for Morty to make it to Violet City from where he is now. _

_The connection may be tenuous, the bad reception causing static to fill the background, but Morty still knows what Falkner means to say, but cannot bring himself to (yet)._

I just can't do both.

_They avoid saying it in hopes that if they don't, they won't have to face it._

_At least for a little while longer._

— . . . —

They are only a few hundred feet away from the party (close enough so that they can still hear the chatter and music, so faint it might as well be an echo) when Falkner kisses him for the first time in three years.

Falkner's lips are warm against his own, and Morty feels like he is twenty again, filled to the brim with an affection that sends visions of a different kind flitting against the inside of his eyelids.

Except he's twenty-three now and this isn't the empty boys' bathroom at Trainer School after Falkner's graduation ceremony.

When Falkner pulls back, Morty brings two fingers up to touch his chapped lips, dumbfounded. "What was that about?"

Morty remembers the first time Falkner had him over at his family's estate. Hanging in the hall was a portrait of him. The eyes of the man in the painting are flinty and resolute and brave, transformed into the heir his father has always wanted by paint and canvas. Looking at him now, Morty realizes that he looks like that man in the painting. There are no vestiges of boyhood indecision lingering in his eyes.

"I'm turning twenty-one in a few months," Falkner says. "A man's twenty-first birthday marks his entrance into adulthood in my family. I think that means that I'm old enough to make my own decisions. And that was the first one I made—to kiss you because I want to, because I've wanted to for three years and—,"

There really isn't a need for words, Morty thinks, so he doesn't let him finish the rest of his sentence.

— . . . —

"So you want me to be your dirty mistress, or something?" Morty whispers into Falkner's ear, hands working off his suit jacket.

"Yes," Falkner agrees, breathless, "and we'll have a forbidden, secret affair like all the tabloids have been writing about."

"How utterly inappropriate," Morty comments with a small smirk, pulling Falkner's starched button-down out from the waistband of his slacks.

Morty needs answers, needs to know what this means for them.

But there's a time and place for everything, he realizes, and this certainly isn't it.

— . . . —

If his gym trainers realize that he's away for more and longer stretches of time, they don't comment on it. Even Whitney refrains from commenting, settling for sending him smug, victorious looks whenever they're in each other's vicinity.

Morty has always taken his position as the Ecruteak Gym Leader seriously. That being said, during his three years of holding it, he has accumulated a multitude of vacation days that he begins putting to use.

Besides, it's the off-season, and pokémon trainers hardly ever show up during the off-season. While this doesn't assuage all of Morty's guilt (because there are always one or two particularly tenacious challengers that shatter the calm), he figures that he has never had a reason to start shirking his responsibilities as a gym leader before now. He's allowed to exhibit some irresponsibility, isn't he?

But Falkner, well, he's definitely a good reason. The best kind, really.

So Morty finds himself flying across the region, sometimes even the world, to meet him.

Olivine, Saffron, Goldenrod, Castelia, Slateport, Sunyshore.

They don't get a lot of sightseeing done (for obvious reasons), and it's not just so they can avoid the prying eyes of the media and their cameras, but mostly just because –

— . . . —

"I missed this," Falkner admits, voice so relaxed it's almost unrecognizable. "Is it odd? Missing it so much only after just a couple of months of it all those years ago?"

Morty just smiles, runs a hand through Falkner's hair languidly. "No, not at all."

Gengar is keeping watch for them, cackling like a mischievous child as he hides in the shadows. His ever-present grin widens whenever a paparazzo or reporter walks into the lobby of the hotel they're staying at, coincidentally or not. Morty usually likes to exercise more restraint over Gengar. He tends to get a little liberal with the confuse rays and will go a little _too_ far to keep the people who give his master so many concerns away. But even with Pidgeot circling over the hotel and Gengar keeping anyone even remotely suspicious away, Morty still feels the slightest bit concerned, so he supposes it can't be helped.

But Falkner is there, warm and whole and _real, _not just some ghost that haunts his memories anymore. They bask in the lazy heat, Falkner's body wrapped around him like a cocoon. Morty wonders if this will ever be enough, and realizes that he already knows the answer (it won't be).

When Falkner falls asleep, Morty finds himself awake, eyes aching from the lengths his insomnia has driven him to. Gengar materializes out of thin air and regards Morty with a grin that looks cockier than usual.

_I remember this boy,_ Gengar whispers into his master's mind.

"Yes," Morty replies softly, careful to keep his voice soft so that he doesn't wake his companion up. "I imagine you do. We spent a few years working together."

Gengar's cackle echoes in his mind. _Odd._ _His dreams taste different from what I remember—sweet and warm._

Morty sends his oldest friend a reproachful, yet fond, look. "Same rules still apply. No eating."

With a theatrical sigh, the shadow pokémon begins to fade away. Before he is completely out of sight, though, he pushes more words into Morty's mind.

_It is because he dreams of you._

— . . . —

_"Eusine!" Morty yells,"it's—,:_

_ But his friend has already reacted, and Alakazam appears in a flash of light. With a grunt, the psi pokémon raises its spoons, glowing blue. There is a roar, and a gust of wind buffets them in the face with the force of a hurricane, and then Suicune is there, suspended in mid-air by the psychic attack._

_ "Finally…" Eusine breathes, voice heavy and almost manic with excitement._

_ The legendary beast regards them in what can only be labeled as deep annoyance. With a bark, its psychic prison shatters, and the North Wind falls to the ground gracefully._

_ Grabbing at Gengar's poké_ _ball, unwilling to let it escape again, Morty is surprised when Eusine raises a hand. Hesitating, Morty's gaze flits from the legendary pokémon and the back of his friend's head. _

_"We have to take it together," Morty hisses._

_ Eusine responds with a guffaw. "And when the time comes for you to confront the legendary Ho-Oh, would you accept my help in subduing it? No, my friend, you would not."_

_ "So I'm just supposed to stand by and watch you try to catch it?"_

_ A nod. _

_"Precisely. Legendary pokémon challenge those that would attempt to tame them," extending an arm dramatically, Eusine points a white-gloved finger and points it at the beast. "Do you hear that, Suicune? I, Eusine, challenge you! I will prove my worth and ability to you!"_

_ Suicune simply stares, but it does not run. Instead, it lets out a bark and charges at Alakazam. With a half-crazed smile, Eusine barks out an order, and Morty just stands on the sidelines, fingernails digging crescent-shaped cuts into the palms of his hands._

— . . . —

When Morty finally gets back home, he just wants to collapse and sleep for forty hours straight, jet-lagged and brooding because it is Monday and their weekend is up. Falkner is miles away now; Morty is just trying to find a way to be okay with that.

But it turns out that when he arrives at his house, Eusine is waiting there for him.

The last time Morty saw Eusine was almost nine months ago. He supposes that after winning that battle against Suicune, Eusine lost interest in Johto. When Eusine had told him this, Morty had tried not to feel _too_ betrayed—Eusine, after all, was Morty's first human friend, his first ally and supporter. Whitney, at least, had been much more vocal about how she felt. Falkner had not been around to see Eusine go.

"How did you get in here?" he asks tiredly when Eusine hops off the counter, cradling a cup of coffee. The intoxicatingly rich aroma wafts through the house. Morty perks up despite himself.

"You gave me a spare key way-back-when, remember?" Eusine says, raising an eyebrow at him sardonically.

"Oh, yeah."

When he really racks his brain, he does sort of recall doing something of the sort when they were scouring Johto a few years back. _If you're ever in the area and need a quick rest, or something_, he remembers saying. Knowing how forgetful Eusine is, though, he had half-expected his eccentric friend to lose it and promptly forget that he had ever received such a thing.

"So, how is our little lord-ling these days?"

And that would be a perfectly normal question for him to ask, except the tone in which he asks it has a lilt of something smug and conspiratorial.

Morty stares.

Eusine just smirks back at him devilishly, and Morty is reminded of the time when he told him about his first kiss and Eusine gave him that same smirk—secretive and mischievous and just the slightest bit proud. And, really… Morty shouldn't be surprised. Eusine _would_ know, even if he isn't around nearly enough.

"He's doing fine," Morty replies, rubbing his eyes—honestly, it's good to finally have someone call him out on his lie. He's so relieved that he can just be truthful with someone about this all for once, even if Eusine is sometimes a little too scatterbrained to keep a secret. For the three months that they've been doing this, Morty has felt like he's been trapped beneath a lake of ice that he can't get out of so that he can at least _breathe_. This, no matter how unexpected, is the first breath of fresh air he's had in what seems like forever.

Eusine hums absentmindedly. "Isn't his birthday coming up? Twenty-one's an important number for those noble types. I imagine that they'll be some kind of big soiree to commemorate it."

"Yes… I imagine so."

His invitation had arrived just before he'd gone off to meet Falkner in Lilycove, where he'd anxiously asked Morty if he'd received it.

Unsurprisingly, Eusine brandishes an invitation of his own, the expensive-looking parchment folded and creased carelessly.

"It's quite frightening, really, how those couriers found me. Suicune is infinitely faster than their standard Violet Gym-issue bird pokémon," he chuckles, gloved fingers tapping a deceptively unassuming poké ball at his waist. "So I imagine that you'll be in attendance, won't you?"

Morty shrugs. "He – Falkner – he wants me – _us _there. Still, I'm considering whether or not that would be such a good idea…"

With one last gulp of his coffee, Eusine sets the empty mug down onto the counter and gives Morty a perfunctory nod. "Well, I'll be sure to tell him happy birthday for you then," he says, grabbing Suicune's poké ball and making his way towards the door.

Except that _really_ can't be it; Eusine always has something to say.

"What? That's it?" Morty asks defensively, as if Eusine's lack of a comment is critical in of itself.

Eusine simply shrugs nonchalantly, his ridiculous cape rippling with the movement. "It's your life. The kid's too, I suppose," he smirks. "Though if you ask me, the whole nobility thing is far too antiquated to dictate how people should live their lives… And who knows? Perhaps some of our friends in high places share my opinion."

Before walking out the door, Eusine claps Morty on the back and gives him a little wink. Then, in a flash, Suicune appears and Eusine jumps onto its back and, with a gust of wind, his friend is gone.

Despite the pang of exasperation Morty feels at his friend's eccentric antics, he does remember that he learned everything he knows about dramatic entrances (and exits) from Eusine.

It seems, though, that Eusine will always be infinitely better at it.

Morty allows himself a small grin before closing the door.

— . . . —

Whitney forces herself into his house two days later, bearing fresh bagels from their favorite bakery in Goldenrod City. Her hair is a bit windswept from the run over, and she plops Entei's poké ball back into her bag. She trails Morty closely as he leads her to the couch.

"So?" she asks while smothering cream cheese onto her bagel.

"So, what?" Morty returns, feigning ignorance.

She lets out a huff of frustration. "You know what. Falkner's birthday party. The one the gossip magazines are saying will be the social event of the century." From the sound of it, she is trying very hard not to tack on a _duh_. "You're going."

Morty realizes that it isn't a question.

So he nods.

"I'll need you to help me pick out another suit, though."

She smiles deviously. "Oh, honey. I'm _way_ ahead of you…"

— . . . —

_If he wasn't looking at it, he wouldn't be able to believe it._

_ It's _Whitney _standing there, and, clearly, standing right next to her, is the legendary beast of fire – Entei._

_ "Well," Eusine says, voice as cool and collected as always. "Isn't _this_ a surprise?"_

Yes, _Morty thinks to himself, _because it isn't _Falkner_ standing there.

_It's Whitney there. It's Whitney who's talking about how she was just taking a walk when Entei appeared, and there was no time to call Falkner because it was attacking and Miltank was just barely able to keep up with rollout, and really, she just _knew _that she'd be able to help, and now that Eusine has Suicune and Morty has Raikou and she caught Entei, Morty can finally summon Ho-Oh, and isn't that what he's always wanted?_

_ No, he wants to say. Not if Falkner isn't here. _

_ But Eusine is clapping him on the shoulder and Whitney is smiling so widely it looks like her face is about to split in two, so Morty forces a smile on his face and nods._

_ There's not enough time…_

— . . . —

He doesn't know why, but the tight feeling in his chest gets less and less intense every time he breathes Falkner in right before their lips meet or they're just lying in bed together.

It's getting easier to breathe.

So things stay unresolved.

He hasn't asked; Falkner hasn't answered. It's just like last time, except Morty feels a lot less anxious about how everything will turn out in the end. So what if things can't stay like this forever? Yeah, they both know that this – the flying around the world for clandestine meetings at hotels and lying about it all, isn't sustainable. They deluded themselves into pretending that it all would, last time. But now. Well, Morty isn't quite sure what they're doing now is, but it certainly isn't a delusion.

At eighteen-years-old, Morty had thought that he'd brought the light back into the world. He thought that he could see it all with the darkness was gone.

But now he is twenty-three, and he knows that even though he'd done at eighteen what all those that had come before him had died trying to accomplish. He knows that there is no way that he knows every truth in the world. He never will. Nothing will ever be able to give him that.

Because the world isn't just about black and white. There are so many shades of gray in between, and so many colors _beyond_ that.

And they are still in between it all: not quite men despite all their achievements and responsibilities, not quite boys because of all of that. Morty knows that one day Falkner will wake up and won't let him walk away from him again with his lips swollen and the pale skin of his neck dotted by formless purple marks. He knows that there is more between them than just a summer romance this time, and that it makes all the difference in the world.

Morty is twenty-three; Falkner is about to turn twenty-one.

They aren't chasing anything anymore (except each other).

They have all the time in the world.

— . . . —

Morty doesn't particularly like Violet City.

It feels like Ecruteak before the League moved in and established the gym—antiquated, rigid, stagnant.

Being who he is makes it easier. He is the man who fulfilled a thousand-year-old prophecy, and despite the fact that he was also the boy who ignited a minor gay scandal with their precious heir, it is enough to make people accept him into their rather closed society (albeit with their noses upturned).

Even though Falkner's father is usually confined to his bed with illness, the only time they met Morty could tell that he didn't like him.

That being said, this 'soiree' isn't exactly the most comfortable of events for him, even with both Whitney and Eusine in attendance (though that hardly helps, because the second Whitney saw Eusine again her lips thinned to a thin line and her cheeks turned an angry red and she slapped him hard in front of all the other guests).

So Morty is currently standing as far away from the bar as possible (where Eusine is chatting up an attractive-looking noblewoman) with Whitney, who is taking deep breaths in an attempt to reign in her anger. Morty is starting to wish he'd pushed the anger management thing the first time a challenger defeated Whitney in a gym battle and she refused to hand over the badge The two of them had agreed beforehand that it was ridiculously unfair to do, but she'd sent Entei out to battle anyway. The poor kid had arrived at Ecruteak a few days later with his eyebrows scorched off and a terrified expression on his face (probably at the thought of even _more_ fire).

"I mean," Whitney grits out, knuckles white around the glass of gin she'd had Morty procure for her. "What the _hell_ gives him the right to drop back in, out of the blue, like he didn't just leave us high and dry?"

Morty realizes that this is a rhetorical question, so he just nods and lifts his flute of champagne to his lips, taking a large swallow. He wants to be drunk – gloriously and mind-numbingly drunk. He wishes that he'd picked up a glass of gin for himself, and eyes the bar longingly. Before he can decide how best to escape the ranting Whitney and make his way back to the bar without it being considered a traitor, there is a clipped '_ahem_' and when Morty looks up there is Clair, wearing skin-tight leather and a cape (as always).

"Hello Clair," Morty says numbly.

"Morty," the blue-haired dragon tamer says with a nod. "Whitney."

Whitney lets out a grumble of acknowledgment, but Clair doesn't seem to mind. Her steely gray eyes are focused on Morty. Like everything that has to do with the blue-haired gym leader, the unprecedented maintenance of eye contact sets him on edge.

"I take it you're enjoying the party?" Morty asks a bit awkwardly, staring into his flute of champagne and wishing that there was more of it.

"A bit garish for my tastes," Clair says derisively, eying the incredibly detailed ice sculpture of a pidgeot in flight with distaste. "But the nobility will do as they please."

Morty restrains the desire to remind her that _she_ is a member of the nobility—the youngest daughter of the oldest and most renowned family of dragon tamers in Blackthorn City. Whitney though, far less tactful and a bit drunk, he suspects, does.

Surprisingly, instead of glaring at her venomously or making a dramatically threatening motion with her cape, Clair merely smiles.

"Yes, well. Grandfather has more taste than Lord Walker, I assure you," the eye contact resumes. "Far less to prove, you see."

Before Morty can react to that rather pointed statement, Whitney barrels away and begins stomping toward the bar. Fearing another scene, he makes to follow, but Clair's grip on his shoulder stops him.

"What?"

Clair merely makes a gesture with her head to point toward the crowd. When Morty turns, he sees Falkner there, his arm linked to an exceedingly gorgeous woman with a demure smile on her face. It is like a punch in the gut, and Morty feels trapped. He opens his mouth to excuse himself, but Clair's grip tightens, keeps him from making his escape.

"That," Clair says, voice tinged slightly with loathing, "is a visiting heiress from the Sinnoh region. Lord Walker thinks that perhaps he can arrange a match between them."

Morty can barely speak over the lump in his throat.

"Oh," he manages to choke out weakly.

"It won't happen," she informs him assuredly.

"And how do you know that?"

But Clair just smirks and does that thing with her head again. This time, when Morty sees Falkner again, he finds his eyes already on him.

"I think you already know," she says before patting his shoulder and walking away, leather boots clacking authoritatively against the fine hardwood floor of the ballroom.

And damn, Morty thinks distantly when Falkner finally manages to tear his eyes off him, maybe Eusine was right.

— . . . —

At the bar:

"What a skank," Whitney growls.

Eusine sighs. "Really, Whitney, is such language really—,"

Another slap.

"Slut, Jezebel, harlot…" she continues, glaring at the Sinnoh heiress as Falkner twirls her across the dance floor.

Eusine rubs his (very red) cheek tenderly. "Yes, well, I suppose I deserved that…"

Morty smiles despite himself. "Yeah, I think you did."

"Ya think?" Whitney snarls, though the way she looks at Eusine is less furious and more forced.

It's progress, at least.

Eusine, looking dapper (and eccentric, as always) in a tailored purple suit, hides his grin behind the brim of his wine glass. "Yes, well, _that _young lady who our friend is dancing with –,"

"Is an heiress from Sinnoh that his father is hoping to arrange a match with," Morty finishes, grimacing a little as the crowd applauds approvingly when Falkner dips her.

"His _what_?"

"My, you're well-informed, old friend," Eusine quips.

Morty shrugs and gives him a self-deprecating grin. "I have my sources. I don't always hang back in the shadows like a 'creeper.'"

At Eusine's deep and throaty laugh, Whitney bangs her hand against the bar.

"What are y'all laughin' about? She can't just… _dance_ with Falkner like she owns 'im! What're you gonna do about it, Morty?"

Silence falls between them, tense and nearly unbreakable.

"Whitney…" Eusine begins, voice serious.

"I need some air," Morty mutters, standing up and making his way out of the ostentatious, crowded ballroom, ignoring the calls of his friends.

— . . . —

_Falkner stares and finds that Ho-Oh is staring back._

_ "Geez, Morty," he breathes, voice tight with awe and choked with emotion. "It's magnificent."_

_ Falkner is standing there right next to Morty, close and warm and real, but it feels like he's leagues away. Morty's got bags under his eyes from almost two days without sleep, and he's on edge. It's over. He's forged a partnership Ho-Oh and everything they've been dreaming of for years has come true. It's done. Morty must have imagined how this would feel millions of times. He finds that it's nowhere near as spectacular as he imagined, not even close._

_ It's all ending._

_ "It's over, isn't it?" Morty asks quietly._

_ Falkner inhales sharply—he realizes that they aren't talking about the mission anymore. "I… I don't want it to be," he replies shakily._

_ It's enough of an answer for him._

_ Morty stares at Ho-Oh, eyes tracing the outline of every rainbow wing. "Right, of course. We knew it would come to this eventually. You're… the only heir and…"_

_ "Yeah," Falkner chokes out, trying to sound much stronger than he actually is, aspiring to be that man in the painting. "Obviously. It's better for both of us… to stop living a lie."_

_ They both nod dozens of times before Falkner finally backs away, fingers his pidgeotto's poké ball anxiously. "Morty… just…"_

_ Don't say it, Morty thinks. Don't say anything that will make me want to fight this. Please. Just walk away and let me start grieving._

_ He doesn't. "You really did it. It's… _incredible, _Morty."_

_ Morty nods. "Yeah."_

_ And then there is a gust of wind and Falkner is flying away._

_ Morty doesn't follow. _

_ Instead, he stares at Ho-Oh, who stares back, something that looks a lot like sorrow in its ancient eyes. Morty wants it to tell him the truth, to cast light on the world and make it so that Morty feels like he has accomplished something meaningful._

_ "All my dreams have come true," Morty tells it, reaching a hand to stroke its feathers._

_ Ho-Oh croons, lowering its face so that it is level with Morty's._

I cannot give you what you think I have, young one.

_Morty nods choppily. He understands._

_ He knows he should be happy. Happiness is what happens when all your dreams come true, right? Isn't this what had just happened with Morty? Hadn't he just achieved what he'd been dreaming since he was the little outcast boy, wondering why the villagers always avoided him as if he were a bad omen? Then why… why isn't he…_

_ Ho-Oh croons heartbreakingly again, and Morty finds solace in the realization that he isn't the only one crying, the tears scalding as they trail down his cheeks._

— . . . —

Morty manages to get out of the crowded ballroom. Almost frantically, he pulls at the tight collar of the button-down shirt under his suit, tired of the terrible sensation of being strangled. He takes deep gulps of the cool air of the perfectly manicured garden, sinking down to sit on a marble bench.

"Morty?" a voice calls from a few feet away. It's Falkner, his own collar and tie loosened and hanging a little too low to be proper by Violet City standards. He doesn't even hesitate before he takes a seat beside him and puts a hand over his, thumb rubbing soothing circles into his skin. "Whitney told me you ran out here. Eusine added that you were 'in distress.'"

Morty chuckles humorlessly before shrugging.

He doesn't know. He doesn't know anything, anymore.

They stay as they are for a few long moments, the sounds from the manor as festive and loud as ever. Morty clears his throat, says, "Isn't it improper for the guy they're throwing this party for to skip out on his guests like that?"

Falkner mimics Morty's shrug, tapping his fingers against his hand. "It's _my_ birthday party," Falkner reminds him, voice almost playful.

"True. But—,"

"Yeah," Falkner interrupts him, voice lowered to a husky whisper, "And I just realized that I haven't gotten anything I wanted for my birthday…" And then Falkner leans in, and Morty meets him halfway and they are kissing, Falkner's hands spread across Morty's back and Morty's tangled in Falkner's feathery hair. It is wonderful and exhilarating and electric, thousands of times better than standing atop that tower when Ho-Oh landed before him, accepting his challenge and partnership. Morty's blood is on fire, and everything drops away.

When Falkner pulls away, he presses a finger to Morty's lips to keep him silent.

"I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to sneak around and lie and act like you and I are nothing more than friends, like I'm an eligible bachelor for my father to auction off to the most suitable girl whenever he sees fit. I want – _need_ you, Morty. And not just for tonight or for a couple of nights in some hotel. I thought that maybe if I let things run their course like we never did back then, I could somehow get enough of you to last me for the rest of my life, but it isn't enough, because I'm stuck here living a life I loathe because I have to watch you walk away each time and I can't handle that anymore. And maybe I'm being selfish, but I _don't care_, because I don't get to see Whitney on a shopping spree or Eusine make jokes or just _you_, Morty."

Morty stays silent, unable to find his voice.

Falkner is breathing hard, finger trembling against Morty's lips.

"So I'm being selfish and asking you," he whispers softly, "to try this with me. Come?" and his hand hovers a few inches away from Morty's chest, beckoning.

"What about…" and Morty gestures toward the estate, hand shaking, "them?"

And this is it, because Falkner is running a distressed hand through his hair wildly, eyes filled with anger and wanting and a need to be _free_.

"I don't care about them, Morty. _Fuck them._"

And Morty's eyes widen and he knows that this is the moment they've been circling around. He knows that this, _this _is everything. So he nods and takes Falkner's hands.

"Aright," he says hoarsely, "I'll – _we'll_ try this."

— . . . —

Ho-Oh is much too noticeable a method of transportation, and even though Falkner's hands reaches for its poké ball in his pocket with a daring expression, Morty grabs his wrist and doesn't let him, shaking his head and reaching for Pidgeot's instead.

They make it to Ecruteak without attracting any attention. No one is wandering the cobblestone streets of his neighborhood at this hour of the night, so Morty links their fingers and leads him to the door of his house. It is small and unspectacular compared to the manor they'd left just a half hour ago, but Falkner's expression is awed. He looks as if Morty's house were a palace, the cramped kitchen a banquet hall, the quaintness more regal than all his father's riches.

"This is all yours?" Falkner asks.

Morty nods, a little pride welling up inside his chest despite himself. "And yours," he adds softly.

_It always has been,_ goes unsaid, but Falkner seems to hear it, because he is leaning up again and they are kissing again, slow and sweet.

And then Morty is guiding them up, up into his bedroom and the door closes resolutely behind them and they shed their clothes and there is the delicious friction of skin on skin as they fall down. And it's Morty, not some heiress from Sinnoh, who is pressing open-mouthed skin on every inch of skin he can, claiming Falkner, and it is Falkner who is making Morty's breath hitch like that, pressing their bodies closer and closer as if they could meld together and become one. And there is light welling up inside Morty's chest now, so bright and radiant that it chases all the darkness away, spreading along his ribcage and bursting with every beat of his heart. That light is more beautiful and luminous than even Ho-Oh could produce.

— . . . —

In the middle of the night, Morty's PokéGear starts buzzing incessantly. Still half-asleep, he reaches to where it lies atop their scattered clothes and switches it off. Falkner makes a small whining sound until Morty curls back around him.

— . . . —

When the early morning light begins to filter through the blinds, they hover precariously between sleep and wakefulness. Morty can feel Falkner's breath, warm against his neck, his hand flung over Falkner's waist, legs entangled. Falkner makes a small sound and inches closer. Morty falls asleep.

— . . . —

"You know," Morty murmurs, no sense of urgency in his voice, "If you're away for too long people will start to wonder where you are."

Falkner grumbles, runs his hands over his eyes blearily. "Let them," he grouses before burying his face into the crook of Morty's neck.

Morty chuckles and grabs his PokéGear from where he left it the night before, finding numerous missed calls and texts from both Whitney and Eusine.

"Whitney says they all think you retired early," Morty informs him. "But I doubt that will work when your staff opens your bedroom door to wake you up and finds that you aren't in there."

His skin rumbles where Falkner groans against his neck, reluctantly pulling away and sitting up against the headboard, hair sticking out at outrageous angles. Morty laughs, mirth bouncing off the walls and echoing in their ears. Then Falkner laughs with him, and it is an even better sound, whole and good.

— . . . —

Stubbornly, Falkner walks out the front door and stands by the road in plain sight. He knows that Falkner is just trying to prove that he meant what he said the night before about actually trying and not caring what other people thought, but Morty is terrified, secretly, that Falkner will change his mind somewhere down the line and have nowhere left to turn because of their indiscretion.

"I'm going to talk to my father," Falkner promises him. "He's a stubborn man but I am too. I'll make him see things my way."

Morty nods and chokes back the _but what if he doesn't?_, eyes darting around the area, because it is almost noon and there are surely—,

A hand cups his cheek, pulls his head so that he is staring into Falkner's eyes. "We're going to figure this out."

When Morty nods this time, he actually believes him.

— . . . —

This time Morty is the one to knock on Whitney's apartment door. It takes her a few minutes to answer it, glaring at him miserably with what he assumes is a monster of a hangover, but she lets him in when he hands her a cup of her favorite iced coffee with a flourish.

They don't say anything for a while, just sitting on her couch.

Then, "Did you two finally figure it all out?" she asks, voice hoarse (presumably from all the screaming she had done last night, both at Eusine and the heiress from Sinnoh).

"No," Morty replies honestly, but that feeling is welling up inside of him again, brilliant and perfect. "But I actually think it's going to work out, this time."

And despite the fact that she has a very low tolerance for sound at the moment, Whitney lets out a high-pitched squeal and jumps up onto the couch, jumping up and down with the glee Morty feels but isn't quite ready to let out, yet.

Nothing is certain.

But somehow he knows it will. It's probably just wishful thinking or that hopeful feeling, the one that makes his chest expand with an incredibly warm sensation, but he still _knows._

It's almost as if it were one of his premonitions—a foretelling of a bright future.

— . . . —

His father doesn't say yes.

He doesn't say no, either.

In any case, the attempts at an arranged marriage stop, and he and Falkner start being seen together in public, hands linked and smiles on their faces.

But it isn't easy.

Morty still hates the press. They seem to follow them around whenever they're together in public (and even when they aren't). Falkner always insists on making public appearances for his father, whose health continues to deteriorate, and each time Morty leaves him in that estate by himself he comes back more formal than he had been before. Sometimes he has to let Gengar out to loosen Falkner up with slapstick pranks and jokes. The tight-jawed stiffness ebbs away whenever Gengar makes a particularly outrageous face.

Whitney bristles whenever the gossip magazines intrude on their lives, and Eusine will sigh and say there's nothing that can be done (but every so often a few reporters will find themselves knocked over by hurricane-force winds, and Morty can't help but smile whenever Eusine appears moments later, not a hair out of place).

And so what if it isn't easy?

There is Morty, and there is Falkner, and sometimes Whitney and Eusine. It's just like Morty promised that night years before when they were still boys. This is worth all that and more. Morty doesn't complain, and neither does Falkner.

— . . . —

Falkner's next birthday is celebrated much less lavishly than the last, but he seems to be grinning even wider than before. Morty thinks that makes it a thousand times more successful.

And really, it is just the four of them in a Castelia City penthouse suite that they rented out for the weekend (because Whitney _insisted_ that they hadn't seen it right the last time and Falkner had just shrugged, so Morty and Eusine just had to go along with it), with cake and cheap wine and the 'world-famous' Castelia pizza from down the street. It's embarrassingly small, and Morty almost feels inadequate.

But there is Falkner beside him, thanking them all for the best birthday he has ever had so genuinely that even Eusine, who raises an eyebrow at him and reminds him of the year before with that lascivious smirk, believes him.

When Whitney jumps onto the couch again and begins to jump up and down at the news that there _will_ be shopping tomorrow and Eusine sighs dramatically (to hide a smirk) and Falkner starts laughing and shifts closer to Morty, their ankles tangled, Morty realizes something belatedly.

_Now_ is the exact moment when all his dreams have come true.

The world seems all the brighter because of it.

* * *

><p><em>AN: So I promised an explanation for how exactly the universe this piece takes place in is AU._

_1) Falkner's father is present, unlike in the games. I took the liberty of giving him the name of the man who's believed to be his father in Special/Adventures (Walker)._

_2) Gold/Ethan and Lyra/Kris are not the chosen one in this scenario. Morty is. Sort of. I made use of the device in Crystal where, in order to make Ho-Oh appear, you must first capture the three legendary beasts. When using this scenario, it becomes possible for just about anyone to summon Ho-Oh, hence the characters' mission to capture all three._

_3) Morty's back-story is based off some of the headcanon I developed in _encroachment_, another piece I wrote about him. If you'd like to understand some of the references I made, then I suggest reading it._

_4) I also think I have a new OT4!_

_Well, this took me a while to get out, but only because my inspiration was truly lovely. I can only thank the artist behind it profusely, and hope that if they should stumble upon this, that they are pleased with what I have done with their concept. Thank you._

_Thanks also go out to the readers. Thank you for taking the time to read this piece. Reviews/feedback are always appreciated!_

_I hope you enjoyed the read!_

_EDIT: This had so many mistakes I couldn't bear it..._


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